


All Of Me

by dancingloki



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingloki/pseuds/dancingloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve had never been much of a singer, but even a badly-sung lullaby is enough to keep the nightmares away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamroboteye on tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=iamroboteye+on+tumblr).



Steve had always had the most ridiculous, embarrassing singing voice. When he dragged Bucky to church on Sundays, Bucky would stand there trying not to laugh as Steve wavered along to the hymnals, voice cracking, off-key in six different ways.

Steve would glower and sulk as they wandered out into the street after the evening Mass, the stars glinting overhead. Bucky would tease him ruthlessly, then relent, wrapping a broad arm around his neck and chuckling as they worked their way home under the starlight.

It hadn’t occurred to him right away. There were too many people shooting at them. He’d noticed the physical difference—how could you not—but Steve’s singing voice was the last thing on his mind during a breakout from a psycho war criminal’s prison camp.

Later that night, though… They’d stopped to make camp around three in the morning. It was a solid fifty miles back to the closest Allied forces, and Steve wasn’t going to risk losing any of the injured men by pushing them too hard, so they set up a sentry rotation and tried to get some rest.

Huddled around the campfires, trying to keep warm, somebody struck up a song. An old marching song, from the first great war, probably something he’d learned from his father. All around them, in the flickering firelight, voices picked up the melody.

Bucky watched Steve, watched his face as he picked up the words. When the next chorus came, Bucky was sure that what would come out of Steve’s mouth would be a rich, mellow tenor or baritone, something full and sweet and inspiring. Erskine had made him the perfect man, after all, wasn’t that what everyone was saying? Bucky barely even recognized him as the Steve he’d grown up with. He bit the inside of his cheek and braced himself.

Steve sounded like a flock of geese. If anything, Erskine had made his voice _worse_. He was off-key in _seven_ different ways, at least, his voice nasal and pinched, and _just barely_ off-tempo with the rest of the group. Not enough that you could really _correct_ it, just bad enough to be noticeable. But lord, did he sing with _passion_.

Bucky sat there snickering until the song ended, then shouted, “Come on, Rogers, once more with _feeling!_ ”

Steve flushed bright red and shoved Bucky sideways. He went flying and sprawled on the ground, where he lay, face down in the dirt, laughing until his sides split, until he cried with relief. He could hear the distant sounds of men laughing and ribbing Steve mercilessly all around him.

He rolled over and looked up at the stars. They were right where they’d always been.

The worst part of what Hydra had done to him was the nightmares. In the waking world, he could separate from it, could sift out himself from the things they’d done to him. But in dreams, everything felt so real—the blood on his hands, the cryosleep, the wiping machine they’d strapped him into…

When he stumbled into Steve’s apartment, half out of his mind with sleep deprivation, the last thing on his mind was Steve Rogers’ lack of anything resembling singing talent. He just wanted to _sleep_ , he was _so_ tired, down to his very core. But there he was, tucked into Steve’s bed, shaking helplessly with the demons hovering around the dark edges of his consciousness, waiting, just waiting for him to let down his guard.

In the fraying edges, he was dimly aware of Steve clearing his throat. Then a gentle hand stroked over his hair.

“All of me… Why not take all of me… Can’t you see, I’m no good without you…”

The years hadn’t improved Steve’s voice one single bit. He was flat and sharp at the same time, his voice thin and reedy in his effort to stay low and quiet, and he changed key three times at least.

Bucky peeked up through the window. They were barely visible through the street lights, but the stars were still there.

He shuddered, closed his eyes, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4P0hG3sD0-E


End file.
